Through My Eyes: Shane
by Gwendolyn Fenrir
Summary: The first Through My Eyes story. Shane is reflecting on the past, how to help his brother and nephew, and whether or not he is making the right decisions. Please read and review. Fair day!


**Through my eyes: Shane**

**Description:** Shane 'Earthpaw' Fenrir is a 59 year old red fox, husband to Incla 'Rose' and father of Kila and Ilyap'a 'Tallbow'. Shane and his wife are botanists and all-around gardeners. Shane's father was Malkin 'Fireheart' Fenrir. Shane is also the middle of three boys; Javid 'Lightpaw', Shane, and Odon 'Wolf'.

**Setting:** Tanglewood orchards, two weeks after Javid and his son, Daniel, had a fight, resulting in both being sent to the Infirmary.

_Forgiveness. That is such a simple word to say, to write, to think, but such a difficult action to carry out. I have forgiven so many people so many times in my life. I have forgiven my father for his ways. I have forgiven my mother for her being as weak and cowed as she was. I have even forgiven my forbearers for passing down their ways. I have taught my children to forgive, and I plan on helping my son teach my grandson to forgive. _

_I have had no reason to forgive anyone for any great offense for about three years (save Manco Moryan for marrying my daughter two years ago. I did not like the thought of loosing my little girl, but she could have picked a far worse male). But now, now I find myself needing to forgive again, but this time it's harder. I feel betrayed and angry, two emotions that have not plagued my mind in decades. I do not know if I can forgive fully this time. I do not know if I can forgive my brother._

_There is a big difference in inflicting pain as punishment, such as spanking or pop on the head, and inflicting it to 'train' the child for life. My own father believed strongly on the latter. I cannot remember how many times I was hit or thrown or cut just to 'toughen me up'. He did the same to Javid, but never Odon. For some reason, Dad never treated Odon like he did Jave and me. I suspect it was because, unlike the two of us, Odon was born wanting to be like Dad; a knight._

_I wasn't born that way, nor was Jave. I wanted to be a scholar or a groundskeeper, whichever one I could land. I hated fighting and weapons. I still do. Javid wanted to be a sailor, not in the armada mind you, but on a 'regular ship'. He wanted to sail around the world as a merchant. That was his plan. I only wish Dad's plans had been as grand._

_I was six and Javid was eight when it started, if my memory serves me right. It wasn't bad in the beginning, just regular exercises with small training swords and such. But, as we grew older they became harsher. I dare to say, more violent._

_Javid started to back-talk more and I, being the younger brother, followed his lead as most siblings will do. This just made things worse for us; more hitting and cutting and longer 'lessons', as well as more psychological berating. I hated those lessons. I wanted to hate my father the same way Javid showed so clearly in his eyes. I wanted to hate my mother as well for not doing anything. Yet, I couldn't. I can still remember the first time a realized I couldn't hate them, no matter how hard I tried. I still cannot truly hate. I have come to think that I am incapable of it. I also think it was because of my lack of that emotion, it was one of the things that saved me._

_Javid was another. He'd help keep me sane and lift my spirits by telling me stories of far off lands with unknown dangers and heroes. He'd tell me seagoing tales of pirates and sea monsters. My favorite stories where of the gremlins and pixies that lived in the gardens of Tanglewood. We'd sometimes lay and watch the clouds, an activity we shared with Odon. Odon also shared the stories, but Jave always kept a few secret just for me because I needed them. He is a wonderful storyteller, my brother._

_He would also take most of the blows meant for me. If I made a mistake, he'd try to find someway to turn it into his fault and spare me the pain. If he failed at that, he'd just yell and scream and curse at our father until my father's rage focused on Jave, forgetting me. There where times where neither of those tactics worked and he would put himself between me and whatever I was to be hit with at the last moment, shielding me with his own body._

_As an adult now, I have come to think that Javid did that not only to spare me the pain, but because he knew both of us wouldn't be able to live our dreams, but one would have a chance. I think he did what he did so that I could be that one, so that I could grow up and show the best act of defiance either of us could do; disobey Daddy. I am sure that was what he wanted to happen, so he took most of it to save me. I am also sure that is what condemned him as well._

_Javid did everything within his power to protect me. At the time, I was grateful and appalled. Now, I feel grateful and guilty. I cannot quite piece together just what Dad did to him that has turned my brother into the way he is now. Then, Jave had nothing but contempt and hate for our father, now he and Odon engage in long conversations about how great he was. It's as if Javid gave in and buried all the pain and memories, only to replace them with fiction. Or Dad did it for him._

_All I know for certain is that I am the only one who remembers what Dad was really like. Consciously in any case. I can remember almost every blow with a fist, sword, or hammer. I can remember every kick and laugh when I cried and begged him to stop. I can recall and feel in my dreams every whip lash on my body. I remember him for what he really was; a loving father to Odon and eventually Javid once Jave gave up fighting, and a...a vicious, violent demon to me. _

_I am cursed with looking just like him. Except for the old scars he gave me, I look exactly like him. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him, not me. I see the monster that sired me; I see the monster I could have been. Javid, though, is cursed with acting almost exactly like him and having a son that is just like me. They have come to blows before, and now they took it a step further. Both lie in the Infirmary now, Daniel stabbed in the leg, likely to have a limp for some time, if not for the rest of his life, and Javid with a broken arm (not inflicted by Daniel, though). They will kill each other._

_I don't know very much now. But, despite all the confusion, I do know I have to make Javid remember. I have to make the past come back and look him right in the face. Odon can't do it. Odon saw the side of Dad the world saw. Jave and I saw the monster. I have to make Jave remember what we went through. It's the only was to save Javid and Daniel. It's the only way to save my brother and god-son. I have to. I owe it to Javid for what he did for me._

_And I owe it to the world for letting me grow up like I have. For letting me have a loving wife and two wonderful children. For a good home and vast garden. And a grandson. I owe it to a lot of people._

I let the quill rest in the ink, having finished with my journal entry. I haven't written in it for a long time. I fell out of my want to be a scholar, but I kept my love for plants. That's what I have always loved about Tanglewood, the plants. The orchards and gardens were a paradise to me when I was young. They still are, I guess. Sometimes, I think I see a pixie or gremlin peeking out at me. Remnants of my childhood, the happy parts of it. I think we should all carry parts of our childhood with us; try and find a way to retain some of that innocence. I daresay I hope I have succeeded. I know I'll need some of it.

I look up, hearing footsteps. I close my journal and tuck it back into my bag. The quill follows after being wiped on the ground. After capping the inkbottle and dropping it in as well, I close the bag and stand. I know those footsteps well. I have heard them for 33 years. It can only be my firstborn.

I stand slowly, putting the bag's shoulder strap over my neck. I may be old, but my ears and eyes are still sharp. I see my daughter, Kila, coming for me. She waves and I wave back. She looks very much like her mother, the only thing of mine she has are my eyes; bright burning yellow. The rest is her mother; the brown, curly headfur, the lithe body, the shade of red, brown, and white all mixed together. Manco was lucky. Kila had many suitors, but I didn't like any of them.

She and I meet and we start walking. I lead. I don't want to go back to Daniel's apartment, nor back to the house, the home I grew up in. I like it out here. If only I could stay in one of these trees. We walk in silence for some time. My daughter doesn't say much and only speaks when she has something to say. I like that about her. Unlike Morgan, Kila thinks before she talks. My niece does the opposite.

"Gold for your thoughts," she says at last, gazing about her. I look over at her and run my paw through her curly headfur. She is the apple of my eye, and my son is my pride and joy. They may sound like the same thing, but they are not. At least not to me. I pat her head good-naturedly and shake my head.

"Nothing, Kila. I am just enjoying this summer day. Autumn will be here soon."

She shakes her head and, turning, wags a claw under my nose (Just like her mother!). "The fool carries his burden; the wise man shares the load."

I can't help but smile. She has talked that way since she was 10 years old. All in a poetic form that carries so much meaning. I love it. It is hard to understand sometimes, but overall it always makes perfect sense. I know exactly what she was saying.

"The wise man also knows who to share it with. My burdens are not for your shoulders, daughter. You worry about your own load."

She regarded me for a moment and crossed her arms. She slowed her walking pace and I slowed as well. I just hoped she wouldn't stop walking.

Then, just like her mother, she read my thoughts and stopped. I sigh and stop as well, facing her. Strange as I may sound, I always loved it when she would get angry at me. Even when she was a little girl, I loved it.

"The heart is wary of carrying secrets, the mind is overwhelmed. The young have the right to study history. The teachers should ne'er withhold the text."

I can't help but smile as I deciphered her words; 'You have a bad heart, Dad. Share your worries with me before you go into overload and act all crazy. I hate it when you go crazy. Everyone younger than you has a right to know exactly why Uncle Javid hates Daniel and why you are acting so strange. Tell me now, or I'll find my own way'. That's what she was saying, and I knew she was right and wrong at the same time. Still, I would have to disclose the matter. She had seen the old whip marks on my back; she knew something had happened to me. She had been seven at the time and hadn't known exactly what had happened. I now feared that she was finding more puzzle pieces.

"Yes it is, Kila. I am wary and my heart does hurt, but not now. The text stays hidden from view until I decide to open it back up. Until _I _am ready. And if I catch you snooping around, you aren't too big for me to turn over my knee."

She narrowed her eyes at me and cocked her head in that cute way she does as if to say, 'Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try, old man'. She then turned and started walking and I followed. She didn't say anything, but I knew for certain she was upset with me for not telling. Quite frankly, I don't want to tell her. I don't want her to know that her father was a punching bag for most of his life. I don't want her to know her uncle is a monster unable to recall his childhood horrors. I don't want anyone to know but, eventually, everyone will. Everyone will and it will be mayhem. Odon will probably never speak to me again. His memory of our father is spotless. If only Odon's rendition was the truth.

I took the lead once more, nodding my head for Kila to follow. She does, giving me the Evil Eye. She is not going to let this matter rest, but I know she won't go snooping. She's a good girl, my daughter, even if she is obstinate. I wouldn't want her any other way. Though, I do believe Manco would disagree with me there. Well, that's his problem. Kila's my daughter, his wife. He's got to deal with his own marital problems. Incla and I did ours. We still do.

Kila and I walk in silence to the Leaping Sailor. The noise coming from it can be heard almost a block away. That's what I need, noise to drown out my own thoughts. So much noise I can't hear myself think, as the saying goes. Plus, I need a little drink. Not, alcohol, mind you, heck no. I'm a fifth generation alcoholic; I know what it could do to me.

We enter and Kila is greeted with some wolf whistles and cat calls. She ignores them and we go to find a table. I eye the offending male eyes meaningfully. They all look away. They know who I am, or rather, what I am. Our family is as old as Tanglewood itself. Everyone knows how to recognize a Fenrir and, once one is recognized, you don't intentionally pick a fight; especially with Kila, she's a wizard with any blade. Me? I just push the right pressure points and knock them out. Like I said, I hate violence.

As we move to find a seat, I hear my name called, or rather, my title called.

"Hey! Dad! Over here! Come on, old man, there's room. Dad?!"

I look around until I spot the source of the noise and, smiling, wave. There's my son, Ilyap'a, sitting with, of all beasts, Morgan. My son looks as if he belongs here, but my niece does not. I know Morgan cannot stand the taste of any alcohol. Kila and I make our way over to the table they are sharing. As I near, I see Morgan drinking a white substance. It was only after a moments thought I realized she was drinking milk. Only Morgan.

Illy had some cherry cordial by the smell of it. Kila and I sat. When a bar-maid came over to collect our order, her cheery face fell and she frowned. Kila asked for some lemonade and I wanted some strawberry cordial, minus the alcohol. The barmaid gave us both testy looks and went off. I assume non-alcoholic beverages are not requested a lot in here. Illy gave us the answer.

"Don't take that personally. She's mad at Morg here. Morgan wanted milk and that made the entire place stop talking. I mean, we're in a Tavern and Inn and she wants milk! Caused a fuss, but she got it in the end. I think it was to shut her up."

I grin. Morgan did and she did not say anything in her defense. I have a feeling it was because she felt she had done no wrong and had rather enjoyed the commotion. If anyone was likely to start some action over nothing, it would be Morgan. A genius she was, but she doesn't have a whole lot of common sense. Talks before she thinks. Not an entirely bright girl in that department.

We waited a few moments in silence, Morgan mumbling a song to herself. Once Kila and I had our drinks, Ilyap'a waited until the barmaid had gone before he leaned over. I groaned inwalrdly. Illy had that look in his eyes that I never liked.

"Daniel's getting outta the Infirmary tomorrow. I cornered on of the healers and made him tell me. Do you think we should go and meet him? I mean, he's gotta find out we're here at some point."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Morgan interrupted me. Typical.

"I don' really like tha' sound o' tha'. Danny Boy's gonna be mad 'nuff as it is with Uncle Jave...las' thing I want is fer 'im ter be mad a me. I say we give 'im a couple hours a'fore we say 'Hi'."

I shook my head. There was sense in her words, but also stupidity. It is better, in my opinion, to let him know as soon as possible rather than wait. After all, knowing my nephew, the first place he'll go once he's free of Haize is to go to his apartment in the right watchtower. Since we've been there and cleaned the place up, he'll end up having a heart attack knowing someone's been going through his stuff. Quite frankly, I want to be the only one whose has a heart attack. They aren't pleasant things to have.

"No. We greet him as he leaves the Infirmary. We tell him how long we've been here, what we've been up to, and that we're here for him. Then, we let him go off in befuddlement, or annoyance. And don't back talk me Morgan...it'll be better this way."

She regarded me, her lips pursed, "I don believe ya'. I don' think tha's the best thing ter do. But...yore tha' boss...whatever."

She took another drink of her milk. Illy and Kila looked at me as well. I'm not sure who it is they where siding with. I rose and left, leaving the money to pay for my drink.

I left the Tavern and walked along the streets, paying little heed to anyone else. My mind was awhirl. I half agreed with Morgan, of course. And, I half disagreed. Sometimes she surprised me, but now she caused me to doubt myself. I knew delaying the news of our being here would just make Daniel angrier, but also letting him know so quickly would still make him angry. I don't know if my decision was the right one.

Not for the first time I found myself longing for my wife. Incla would know. Incla always knows what to do. She is a very wise creature, and the most beautiful vixen I have ever laid eyes upon. But, I left her back in Cambers with the rest of the family. I would bet all my land she was having fun having to help out with all my great nieces and nephews. She loves children just about as much as she loves plants.

I looked up and found myself back in the orchards. How strange...I had intended to head back to the house. I shrugged and continued to walk into the green. I was quiet at the moment and I saw no other soul. I think seclusion was just what I needed. I was doubting myself and being among nature has always helped clear my mind.

I located the tree I had been under earlier and sit down once more. I notice it's a weeping willow. How fitting. Taking my bag off of my shoulder, I pull my journal out and look back over it. I find it strange how the past comes back to haunt the present with no idea of what the future will bring. The past seems to be coming back to me a little more everyday. I relive events I would rather forget in my dreams and those dreams continue throughout my days.

I peel down my shirt collar and feel the four bare skin patches. I remember the day my father gave those marks to me just as clearly as I remember the day Kila was born. The day the marks where made was one of the most horrific days of my life. The day I became a father was one of the happiest. How strange the way our lives are.

I take out the quill and ink bottle and settle down to write some more. That is all I can do for the moment...

_When I was young, I would close my eyes and dream a thousand new lives, only to wake up and find myself in the one I left. If there is anything my father taught me...change is very hard to bring about._


End file.
